Blacking out in the freezer,
the heat beyond the lid of the breath of the breath and the
death by the teeth inside their head.
It's old and it feeds the hunger under siege,
it's
the gristle and the bone and the flesh,
should I give them what they need?
Don't roll with falls,
they'll only bring you down.
Those eyes are those
that feed on bitter towns,
that feed on bitter towns.
It
wasn't beauty or relief or adventure but for sleep,
that's the cause and the dogs shed their guard.
Now we're counting sheep,
added found among the fangs and the howls at the rain,
brothers in a wreck of a
house of some
widow's claim,
but only when they're tame.
So don't roll with falls,
they'll only bring you down.
Have I peddled off the deep end,
that feed on bitter towns,
that feed on bitter towns?
Next
time I hope you know,
the way to God is the way to roll out on.